The Crimson Snow
by Fragments Of Dreams
Summary: Some insight into what's behind Fubuki's gentle smile. Angst-angst. Tell me if the rating's too low. One-shot.


_**Author's notes:**_

_**Well, I've been feeling a little under the weather for a while now, so I've decided to let it all out in a healthy way. PLEASE READ THE DISCLAIMERS!**_

_**I guess I wasn't exactly able to pull this off. Lots of criticism welcome, even flames (really, I'm serious) but you can't PM hate mail.**_

_**DISCLAIMER:**__** I do not own IE or its characters.**_

_**DISCLAIMER 2:**__** PLEASE NOTE THAT THE AUTHOR DOES NOT SUPPORT SUICIDAL ACTS OR SELF-DAMAGING ACTS. HURTING YOURSELF AND OTHERS IS NEVER THE ANSWER. THE AUTHOR ALSO WOULD LIKE TO IMPRESS UPON THE FACT THAT HE IS IN NO WAY PLANNING THOSE KINDS OF ACTS AND WOULD LIKE TO DISCOURAGE THEM GREATLY.**_

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_**The Crimson Snow**_

I don't remember who I am anymore. I wasn't able to for a long time...

But I remember that people call this soulless body Fubuki Shirou... 'White Snowstorm'...

'Snow prince'...

But that's just ornamental. The one they were supposed to call Shirou Fubuki died a long time ago with his family... But I realized this only recently... What's the point of it? Truth is I hate each and every part of my life, life itself.

I hate myself for being alive. I hate the people around me for caring about me. I hate my brother for many reasons... But mainly for pulling me towards the light... But the light turned out to be nothing but white darkness...

I hate my father for giving me an empty goal to cling on to, so I would spend my life blissfully unaware trying to achieve the impossible.

I hate my mother for her silent smiles... I can still feel the brightening, uplifting feeling it gave me and gives me till this day.

I now relish darkness, pain, the promise of feeling nothing. But I did stop feeling or even attempting it. Why? Why does the world think that my smile is real? Am I such a good actor, or the world so naive?

But that's only my benefit. They all assume that my injuries are accidental, or souvenirs of rigorous training...

I'm still confused about my feelings, as I look at my reflection in the mirror I feel a rise of fury and loathing... Am I angry at Atsuya or myself more?

My reflection started to grin at me gleefully. My anger spiked to no end... More so when it said to me, 'What's the matter Onii-chan? Why aren't you smiling? I thought you're happy that I haven't left? Didn't you realize that being perfect isn't your goal and content at what you are?'

'Shut up Atsuya...' I hissed at him.

'Aren't you happy of being the same poor boy crying in the corner of a dark closet, cut off from the rest of the world?' He continued cruelly. I had my fingers clenched so tightly that I thought that they might start bleeding again.

'Or did you realize tat you're much less than that?' He said with his shiny eyes that glinted in the dark. 'You're nothing! Even less than me! And I'm nothing but a memory.'

'SHUT UP!' I yelled at him loudly and punched the mirror so hard that it shattered.

Bloodstained pieces of glass fell to the floor. My hand was bleeding. But all the pieces still showed him laughing at me. 'Are you enjoying yourself? Huh, Onii-chan? Really relishing the pain?' He said viciously.

I roar in frustration and started stepping on the shards, until I could only see blood and pieces of glass without my reflection.

But one piece still only showed his bright iris. 'What's the tantrum for? I was only telling the truth. You are nothing, nothing but a shell that fulfills other people's goals. A broken sword.'

I fall to my knees and fall sideways clutching my head. I feel tears coming forth as I pull my legs into a fetal position.

'You're right, you've always been right, I am nothing, I was nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing ...'

I keep on saying it, hoping that the bitter reality would crash down upon my will to live...

The door to my room was being knocked forcefully... People were calling me in worried voices...

But all this was pointless. I want to become what I really am... '_NOTHING!'_

I finally scream out to the world, the heavens, with a drawn our scream so loud that I feel my throat burning, almost tearing.

I pick up a shard of glass... Small as it was, it was still enough... I use it to hack at my wrists and my forearms one, twice, thrice... This pointless façade will finally come to an end... The curtain is finally falling in this drawn out tragedy, where I'm the protagonist as well as the antagonist...

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_**END**_

_**No, this is not incomplete. Short stories are usually like this. (only for those who are wondering if there's a second chapter coming.)**_


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